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My cheeks heat with embarrassment.

After a few seconds, the laughter gives way to male voices.

“Hell-ooo?” I repeat.

“Alessia!” Hart almost sings. “Hi.”

“Where are you?”

It’s noisy wherever he is.

“Vegas,” he says. “Did you call me?”

Vegas?

“No. You called me.”

“Oh,” he says, laughing again.

It’s 11:00 a.m. my time, meaning it’s 1:00 a.m. in Las Vegas.

Is he drunk?

“Shut up, Whit. I can’t hear,” he says too loudly. “Sorry, baby. I took a gummy, and I’m a little dit brunk.”

My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline.

Then there’s more laughter and shouting.

What on earth?I end the call.

Joslyn gives me a nervous look. “Is everything all right?”

I swallow past a lump in my throat as all my fears about his age and maturity level flood to the surface.

My phone rings again, and I answer quickly. “Sorry, I’m bus—oh, hi, Whit.”

“It’s my fault—I made him take it,” he says, interrupting me with a chuckle. “But I swear it’s all good ...”

“Okay, Whit, I can’t talk to you right now. I need to talk to a grown-up. Bye.”

I silence my phone and turn on do not disturb.

The following day, Hart calls again. I almost let it go to voicemail, then decide against it.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” he says simply.

“Hi.”

There’s a long pause, and I feel every bit of the distance between us, stretching on with uncertainty. A heaviness settles in my chest.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says finally.

I shrug, turning off the stove so I don’t burn my dinner.

“Alessia,” he begs, “say something.”